Most Faithful
by Clearly Clayr
Summary: They all wanted to be the Dark Lord's most trusted servant. Bellatrix Black has been seduced by the Dark Arts, and she would give anything for Lord Voldemort... even her soul.
1. Hatred

Most Faithful: Chapter One

Before you get too attached to me, there's something you should know. I'm not the stereotypical main character to some stupid little fairy tale you read to your children. I'm not the hero that tries to save the world, or parades openly against the forces of the Dark Lord, with the help of my pathetic friends and family standing by my side. I'm not going to tell you nice things. You aren't going to hear about friendship and fluffy love affairs.

My story is quite the contrary to a fairy tale. You can't even begin to fathom the secrets I harbor deep in my mind. You probably do not come from a family that has worked for so long to protect all that is sacred and essential to the success of the Wizarding World. You cannot smell the odor that reeks in the air when I walk into the Hogwarts Great Hall. You do not see our customs of old being washed out by those who know nothing of the past. You do not see the way the Mudbloods and blood traitors are destroying our precious world. You, then, are blind. I see behind the smiling faces. But do you see who I am?

Black. Black on the outside, black on the inside.

Bellatrix Black is my name, and it will do you well not to forget it. One day you may be screaming it in your sleep. Perhaps it will be uttered as your last word. Remember that my name is Black as you fade into the darkness and death engulfs your body and soul, pulling you down to hell. Remember that it was a Black that sent you there. The noble and most ancient house of Black has sent you to your grave.

Doesn't that have a nice ring to it? I delight in saying these words, perfecting them, so that when the day comes that I look my cousin Sirius in the eye with my wand pointed at his heart, I can see this without mercy. Sirius is a traitor, a disgrace to the family of Black. He does not deserve the name that has been bestowed upon him. Sirius and that Potter boy are a disgrace; they both need to be sent to their graves.

But I shall not go off into a malicious rant about the numerous ways I could bring death upon that pair; there are many people I would like to see meet their violent end soon. But I am not allowed to do that, not yet. I am a faithful servant of the Dark Lord, and as I am only sixteen years of age, he does not wish that of me yet. The time will come when I will make my sacrifice.

My desperate heart yearns to leave school behind me, to flee the place where Albus Dumbledore lets mudbloods make filthy the halls, and promotes what he believes is justice and dignity. He infiltrates the filthy even more, working to destroy what Lord Voldemort is secretly trying to build upon. He knows something big is about to happen; he can foresee the massacres that are necessary to the cleansing of our world. But to any sensible person, this should be bleeding with blatancy, staining the pool of clear water, the way the mudbloods contaminate our fresh river.

It brings a smile to my face to think of how Dumbledore will try and put a stop to all that will set the world right again. He, and several others who have been deemed crazy, are trying to ready the world for us. But no one can prepare them for Voldemort. My Lord Is powerful and great. There will be nothing that will stop him from gaining his power and his followers. Those who oppose him will be shown no mercy.

Though I do not yet have a Dark Mark burning into my arm, I consider myself his most avid supporter. I am undoubtedly jealous of the glory that comes into the skin and blood of his followers as he burns the mark onto their arms. His mark. They flinch because of the pain, and then parade themselves around as if they had foregone a brave and nearly perilous act.

I will keep a straight face when the skull and serpent are burned into my flesh. I will not pretend I am brave and heroic. I will humbly keep my loyalty within the boundaries of Lord Voldemort, not giving into the temptation to praise myself, and love myself more than I love him. I will be strong for him, even if it means I must die, or worse yet: rot in Azkaban. But I will do it for him. He will know where my loyalties lie.

I am Bellatrix Black, his most faithful. I will not falter. I will not betray him.

I pushed a strand of dark hair behind my ears as I contorted my face with concentration, watching the dead body of the small black cat sitting in the middle of the well-kept lawn in my back yard. The grass was a pallid, livid green color that was most unnatural, giving the aura of grass in a cemetery. 

The cat had been dead for several weeks. I had killed it myself, for an experiment I had been working on. As a sixteen-year-old, I was not supposed to know the curse that sucks life out of a being. I'm quite sure that no one is actually meant to know it, but if you can focus your hate and malicious thoughts upon a being, then say the blessed words, killing is not a difficult task. You have to want it, you have to need it, you have to _feel_ it. You must also possess an immense knowledge of the Dark Arts. I was a perfect candidate.

The stench coming from the cat's carcass was infiltrating the clean air around me, nearly making me wretch. Flies and their larvae were clinging to the rotten meat of the animal, using it as a breeding ground and source of food. The cat's eyes were starting to liquidize already, turning into a pasty, glazed white sort of concoction that even I dared not touch. The black fur was starting to get matted.

All the better for what I was planning.

I extended my long, strong hands over the carcass, and closed my eyes. Immediately, visions of the dead filled my brain, ensnaring all my senses. I could smell the rotting of the dead flesh in the air, and hear the last moans and cries as the dead longed to go back to their rightful places on planet earth. I could see their rotting corpses and feel the cold and clammy skin brushing up against my warm body. I could taste the putrid flavor that kept filling my mouth as I opened it for a breath of air.

I had wandered into the world of Death. Of course, Death had not yet cast its shadow upon me, not that I was afraid of that prospect. But I needed to remain alive and kicking to properly serve Lord Voldemort. He needs us all. The sights, smells, sounds, feelings, and tastes of Death were wonderful, though morbid they were, it was what fascinated me more than anything else. If I had not devoted myself to Lord Voldemort, I would have remained forever in my hobby of attempting to raise an Inferius. Yet, it was the Dark Lord that taught me how to control a corpse. Without him, I was nothing.

Something brushed up against my ankle, hissing and spitting like the world was coming to an end. I looked down at my feet and saw a cat. A black cat with glazed eyes, matted fur, and flies, maggots, and larvae inhabiting its putrid flesh. This was what I had come for, and I might as well have taken it then and there and have finished my mission. But as a Black, my curiosity was running away with me, and I had to walk on a little father and have a look at the dead human beings, who groped for me, occasionally making contact with my skin. It sent a pleasant shiver down my spine.

Taking in my final breath of the dead air, I wrapped my hands around the soul of the diminishing cat, feeling its insides squish as my hands encased it. I closed my spiritual eyes, and willed my physical ones open. I was again looking out at my backyard, seeing the serpentine statuettes of snakes spitting water into fountains, as a black whirl of smoke hovered near me.

A raspy noise at my feet indicated that the cat was stirring. No change in its appearance had come about, which was exactly what I had intended. The cat was now a member of those dead among the living, a slave to my will, do serve my every will and want. To the best of its abilities. It was after all, just a cat.

"Find Narcissa," I said to it, enjoying the way my voice was low and somewhat raspy, not at all innocent sounding. It had a definitely dark touch to it, like the Dark Lord's. The cat trotted off dismally, leaving pieces of itself behind as it left me. Even in the summer I donned black garb, but the heat would not bother me. I had always used charms to repel heat when I wanted to, even in the summer, when magic was supposedly forbidden.

"Don't be silly, Bella!" Mother had always said to me. "You needn't mind that nonsense! You're a Black, and therefore are above the law. Use all the magic you please, child, and keep peacefully in mind that we are friends of the Ministry; they wouldn't date take your wand away!"

And what my mother had told me that summer was true. The Ministry of Magic had yet to even send me a warning concerning the illegal use of magic. And worse yet, Dark Magic. The feeble group of wizards that called themselves the government could easily be swayed, with a charitable contribution of the great sort. It was great to have money.

"What rotten things are you up to, Bella?" Came a smooth voice from behind. Instead of my sister, Narcissa, I had turned calmly to face none other than Sirius Black. I crossed my arms and glared at him, watching. He was leaning against the wall of my house, with his arms crossed, and one foot crossed over the other with his toe on the ground.

Though I never dreamed I would admit it to myself, at that moment, I found something abnormally attractive in my abhorrent cousin. His dark hair fell neatly atop his head, and his dark eyes shone with all they had, like freshly polished wood. His face was not as thin as mine, but chiseled perfectly to match his body and eyes. A cordial smile lit his features, making him look as if there were, deep inside, the shard of dark character that I prized in people.

Part of me wished I were not related to Sirius at that moment. I wished that he were a dark stranger showing up at my doorstep to seduce me, and whisk me away with him to join the Dark Lord and faithfully follow him. The part of me wishing this was rattling around in my heart, banging against my chest to get out.

The sensible, correct part of me, which did not believe in incest, kept telling me that I hated him. I hated the way that he grinned at me, without a trace of evil, but of humor and amiability. I hated the way he did not support the Dark Lord, and how he had started fraternizing with mudbloods, and the way he deserted the house of Black. I hated the way he ran away from home last year to live with that wretched Potter, and I hated the way he hated me.

The sensible side of me won out by far, bleaching out all thoughts of seeing Sirius as attractive. I hated him so much that he was no better looking than the living dead cat.

"What business is it of yours?" I snapped maliciously, throwing a sheet of dark hair venomously behind my shoulders, as I slid my hands into my pocket where my wand was concealed. "And by what foul reason have I had the misfortune of speaking to you?" I added, throwing my nose in the air.

"I'm looking for your sister." He said simply, cocking an eyebrow at me.

"Unless you wish to see Narcissa, I have no other sister," I retorted. A fury rose inside me, thinking of the sister that had also betrayed the family, as Sirius had done. "If I correctly assume who you wish to speak to, I'd suggest looking someplace else. She's run off. Left the family name behind he. She betrayed the family name, and wrought shame upon us all, as you have, Sirius!" I spat. "Now get out before I hex you."

Heaving a sigh, Sirius shook his head at me and grinned. "Whatever you command, oh favorite cousin of mine," he said, with a mock bow, in the voice of a house elf. He stood up straight, saluted me in another mocking fashion, and before I could draw my wand to hex him, he disappeared into the thin summer air. He had turned seventeen already, and could legally apparate. Not that the law mattered, anyway.

"What do you want, Bella?" Came another voice, this one cold and drawling. My younger sister, Narcissa was standing but a meter away, with my dead servant at her feet, pacing back and forth. I could not have looked any less like Narcissa; it was as if we came from different families.

Her hair was long and blonde, shining in the sunlight, catching all the light and causing her to look as if she were glowing. Her eyes were a light slate-blue color, unlike my dark ones. Her face was more pointed than mine was, as if someone had hurriedly chiseled out her features, rather than taking their time, leaving points here and there. This left her with the look of a model for Madam Malkin's shop. Her cheekbones were much higher than mine, and she looked slightly malnourished.

"Just wanted to show you my newest minion," I snapped at her, as if she were stupid. "A new Inferi. He's been dead for a few weeks, mind you."

"Oh, impressive," Narcissa droned, rolling her eyes lazily. "Anyone can kill a cat and bring it back," she said to me. "But I'd like to see you try it to a human being. That is something only the Dark Lord can accomplish."

I took that as a challenge. Narcissa didn't know what had hit her.


	2. Filthiness

Chapter Two

A wild mix of fury and pleasure ensnared my senses and captured my emotions as I raised my wand. I suddenly felt my heart leap, as the thrill of being the attacker rose to its climax. A grin played about my lips, and I let my wand slip from my fingertips. With the hands that were now free, I stretched forward and slowly grabbed Narcissa by the shoulders. My eyes felt heavy, and I heard Narcissa gasp sharply as darkness dissolved around us.

The familiar rotting smell of Death awakened me, as I looked into the oblivion of darkness and demented shadows. I let my hands fall from Narcissa's shoulders, and she let out a piercing scream, lumbering clumsily for my arm.

"You'll wake them," I whispered maliciously. Her blonde hair suddenly seemed to have stopped shining, and her eyes were full of fear. Her breathing was raspy, and she was tugging my sleeve, pointing at something that was clutching the hem of her robes. "It's only a corpse, Narcissa," I added again.

The dark aura that this place of death gave off was satisfying. I could sense the emotions of the dead; they wanted to get to me, to suck the life from my soul. But more so, they could smell Narcissa's fear. They could feel her radiantly terrified emotions excavating themselves from her shallow soul.

I could hear them coming, moaning. They wanted our life.

I sharply grabbed Narcissa who was clinging to me, and closed my eyes sadly. I took in the last breath of the rotting air, and willed my mind to return to my physical body. The pleasant sensation that lingered on my skin in the land of death was no more, as I felt Narcissa's grip loosen on me, as she stumbled away from me, gasping and coughing, as if I had tried to drown her.

I opened my eyes. "Unless you wish for that to be your permanent home," I sneered darkly, "I would suggest that you keep your mouth closed about what I can, or cannot achieve."

Narcissa shot me a glare, gaining her dignity, and stalked off, shaking her hair in the sunlight, keeping her head held high. Narcissa did not have much of a use in life. She was not as gifted as I was, or as opinionated. She was simply someone who had been born into a family that was pure of blood. She would marry a pureblooded man, and continue on with what the Dark Lord wanted. He wanted the world to slowly correct itself, and cleanse itself from the filthiness. Narcissa was not like me. She was not good enough to personally serve Lord Voldemort.

But I did not fritter away my time thinking of my family members. They were far too petty to spend time wasting my precious thoughts on. I should focus everything on being loyal to the Dark Lord, and proving myself to be a legitimate servant, an better equipping myself to do his every will and following his every command.

As Narcissa strutted off to the front lawn to meet Mother, who was going shopping, I turned with a swish of my robes, and meandered slowly to the door leading into the massive fortress that was my house. The door handle was cold to the touch, and fashioned of pure silver in the shape of a serpent. Pulling open the polished mahogany door, I stepped into my home.

The back entrance hall was not quite as spacious as the front, but it did justice enough for such a magnificent house as mine. The ceiling was high, and painted upon it was a series of entangled serpents, moving and twisting, slithering this way and that. I looked up at it, admiring the snakes, and heard the soft sound of my feet carrying me to the golden staircase that led to my room, my favorite place in the entire building.

Through another magnificent hallway after I had braved the stairs, I pulled open the door to my bedroom. The door was bewitched to have the handle know only my touch, and to bite off the hand of whoever was foolish enough to trespass. Mother was missing a finger, due to this contraption. The silver handle warmed instantly at my touch, and the door swung open automatically, then shut as I entered the room.

The lighting was considerably darker than any other room in the house, even darker than the dungeons. I had a tower room, which was circular and large, with a ceiling that shot up into the heavens, bewitched with a sky that was always stormy and dark to match my mood. Near the small circular window was my bed, with the luxurious emerald sheets and silken blankets, with an emerald canopy and bed curtains to match.

There was a door close to me, which hid a flight of stairs (which lead to the courtyard) near the large hearth that held a cauldron bubbling with a blood red potion. Bottled ingredients and illegal potions sat on the shelf above the fireplace, next to the dead and creatures and Dark objects that bedecked the walls of my bedroom.

This room was where I spent most summer days and endless nights, spindling time away, practicing the Dark Arts. My room was my sanctuary, where I confined to myself, and could be whatever I wanted to be. In this world, I imagined myself not to be related to Sirius, for whatever reason I deemed most important at the time. Some days I dreamed of lust and passion, and other days it was of malice and hatred, leading to fantasies of murdering him.

I lead a lonely life, keeping in solitude to my room, worshiping the Dark Lord, preparing myself to better myself to service him. Perhaps my bitter loneliness was the reason that I had been reduced to fantasizing about my own cousin. The same blood ran through our veins, but his blood had been spoiled. He was the rotten apple, the Black Sheep of the Black family. He was no better off than the mudbloods now. He had betrayed us all, shaming our good name. But I would make up for this. I would serve the Dark Lord with so much that it would make up for Sirius's faults.

Suddenly, I felt dirty. I felt as if dirt covered every inch of my skin, and that earthworms were trying to bury themselves in the nutrients of my flesh. I shuddered, and gasped for air, feeling very, very soiled. I felt like the mudbloods must feel. The dirty feeling was creeping into my veins, trying to make my blood as dirty as I felt.

"No!" I screamed. Both of my hands flew to the collar of my black robes, grasping for the clasp. My feet had already carried me to my private bathroom without the consent of my brain. My fingers had made contact with a cold piece of metal, fumbling and groping to undo them. I couldn't stop my hands from shaking; they were far too graceless to undo the miniscule clasp.

So I dug my hands deep into the thin fabric and pulled. Tiny pieces of silver hit the floor with small clinking noises, as I gasped for air. My hands now found their way, turning the handle on the bath. Water steamed out from the mouth of the serpentine faucet, and I pulled what was left of my clothing from my body. The black robes hit the floor softly, followed quickly by my undergarments.

I threw myself into the silver bath, feeling relief washing over me, cleansing the invisible dirt from my body. Steam rose from the tub, as I sank deeper and deeper down into the nearly scalding water. With my toes, I closed the drain, and let the faucet continue to spit out water to wash away my feelings of filthiness. Every inch of my skin was still longing for water, like the touch of a long lost lover caressing the soft skin of your face before he deserts you.

I cupped my hands together, and dipped them into the bath, bringing up the water I had contracted in my palms, splashing it in my face. I sighed contentedly and sank deeper in, turning the knob to the off position with my toes. Water stopped pouring out the faucet, and the remaining steam rose into the air, evaporating slowly before my eyes.

I could see clearly again, with the absence of the steam. My skin was shining with the water, as I propped my legs up on the edge of the bath, crossing one leg over the top of the other. My skin was a pale, yet it still had a healthy glow about it. My body was not perfectly sculpted; I had flaws, though I considered them minor. I was very thin, and my beauty was dark. My face was finely chiseled, though not as severe and pointed as Narcissa's. My legs were almost smoothly built, having small, disappointingly feeble, muscles running up to my slender thighs.

My waist was one of the few things I liked about my body: trim, soft, yet sculpted, and an item that many men wanted to wrap their hands around to pull my body closer to theirs. Above my waist, resting upon my chest was another item that men seemed to find desirable. Admittedly, my breasts were not of ample size, though men didn't seem to mind. I never quite could figure out just what they liked to look at in women.

Whatever it was, I had it. And they wanted it. Oh, the male population of Hogwarts wanted it more than ever. I was on the vestiges of more than great good looks; I was darkly and deliciously beautiful. This pleased me, and I divulged in it often. I was not your typical attractive girl. The slightly harrowing look about me intrigued people, as they looked beyond the inconsequential flaws into the beauty that was vaguely hidden. And it was a flaw that I would divulge in the thoughts of the male population. Shameless snogs, that embarrassed me to think about. I should have thought more of the Dark Lord. 

Why not more, do you ask? Why not take my liaisons further? As the cause for everything I refrained myself from doing, it was my allegiance to the Dark Lord that drove me to refrain from engaging farther into sexual activities with another being. There were far too many risks that could pile up, and that was something the Dark Lord would not want. It could risk the potential danger of falling in love with someone if I allowed the relationship to deepen, which would take some of my devotion to Lord Voldemort, who would always come first in my life. There are unclean diseases that some perhaps possess, thus added to the risk of a pregnancy.

Finally feeling cleansed, I unplugged the drain, and reached to the side of my bath and reached for a towel. My fingers curled around the soft green fabric, and I stood up, wrapping the towel around my body. The fabric was pleasantly soft against my skin, and I felt recovered. I smiled, letting an arrogant grin pleasurably play across my lips.

"Ah, Bella," said an eerily high-pitched voice. It was music to my ears. I did not jump at the sound of Lord Voldemort's voice intruding into my private bathroom where only seconds before I had stood in the nude; it enticed me. He was clad in robes of darkest night, with his hood let down, so that his white skin and red eyes looked notably at me. A pleasant kind of shiver ran up my spine as I smiled for all I was worth. He spoke again to me. "Are your skills progressing, Bella?"

I grinned. "I have been practicing, My Lord," I said, gracefully stepping out of the bathtub to come closer. "Today I brought back the cat."

The Dark Lord had taught me everything I had learned. He had taught me how to bring forth a soulless Inferius, and how to take myself into the land of the dead and back. He had taught me how to kill the cat. He had taught me what _real _power was. Everything of worth that I knew, I knew because of Lord Voldemort. He was my teacher, my leader, and my deity. His visions matched mine like pieces of a simple puzzle.

"Come, Bella," he said calmly, with the tone of a patient mentor. He held out an open hand, which I took gladly, embracing the cold feeling that radiated from his skin onto mine as my other hand held the towel over my otherwise naked body. 

That wonderful sense of deliciously dark rage inflated in my soul as I thought of all the hate-invoking beings in the world. Thoughts of being the one to aid Voldemort alone in washing out the Mudbloods and Muggles fleeted across my mind more than once, as the curses leaving my wand intensified more and more.

Lord Voldemort's touch inspired me. Occasionally, he would take my hands and wrap my fingers around my wand, letting go, to show me the correct form. This worked well. It was as if from his touch I drew his powers into my fingertips, and released them in magic. Sometimes, I could feel his anger when something went awry, but that was always made up for.

"Promising," he said at last, drawing nearer to me, so that our faces were but inches apart. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. He leaned in closer. I closed my eyes, preparing for a kiss. But no kiss came, just soft words in my ears. "You give me hope for your generation."

And he was gone.


	3. Family Reunion

Note:

This will be up again, soon. I promise! Really, I've gotten rid of my writer's block, and I'm just editing these chapters to make them better. It was kind of borderline disaster before, but now it will be better. And worth the wait. Go read some something else while you wait!

--Clayr


	4. Proposal

Note:

This will be up again, soon. I promise! Really, I've gotten rid of my writer's block, and I'm just editing these chapters to make them better. It was kind of borderline disaster before, but now it will be better. And worth the wait. Go read some something else while you wait!

--Clayr


	5. Mystery

Note:

This will be up again, soon. I promise! Really, I've gotten rid of my writer's block, and I'm just editing these chapters to make them better. It was kind of borderline disaster before, but now it will be better. And worth the wait. Go read some something else while you wait!

--Clayr


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